


Hemmed

by Liadt



Category: 13th Century CE RPF
Genre: Battlefield, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4930765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Evesham would never rank as one of Henry's favourite days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hemmed

**Author's Note:**

> Why, oh why, haven't the 1970's BBC/film makers made a film of this? I wouldn't have had to write a fic otherwise.

Battle cries, curses and oaths spilt the air. They mingled with the sound of metal striking metal and the sicklier sound of metal hitting flesh. Henry prayed silently in his head. It was utter foolishness for de Montfort to place him here; the battle would reach him soon and what then? Would this be the day he found out if God had been pleased by his piousness? Was the falling rain God’s tears for him?

Henry was sitting on a horse surrounded by a band of Simon de Montfort’s most trusted and able knights. They wore armour and de Montfort’s white cross. Henry did too, but unlike them, he lacked any weapons to defend himself with. Henry was de Montfort’s prisoner and Henry’s son, Lord Edward, had come to free him and crush the king’s former friend, now enemy, in Evesham. The rebellious Lord had decided to place Henry amongst his army in the hope of inspiring caution in the royalist knights. Henry thought he was here because if de Montfort changed his mind about Henry’s worth he could have him killed and convincingly claim it was an accident.

Henry’s bodyguards began to bunch up tightly around him and then the group broke apart. A band of Edward’s knights had reached this part of the field. When it came to a choice between leaving themselves open to being easily cut down or leaving the king, they took the former. One of de Montfort’s men pressed a spare mace into Henry’s hand before engaging in battle with another.

Henry looked wildly around. Could he spur his mount out of the chaos to safety? His horse responded with little urging from Henry’s leg; it too did not want to stay in this place of death. The animal trotted forward, but a knight rode into its path, blocking the way ahead. The knight raised his lance and rode at Henry. The knight hadn’t gained enough momentum to make a blow from his lance fatal, but he did gash Henry’s side and knock him to the ground in the process. Despite the bulky armour he wore, Henry staggered back to his feet. Henry crossed himself, the falling rain was turning the ground boggy and he had no desire to drown in the mud, weighed down by heavy armour. Swaying unsteadily on his feet, Henry looked up to see the knight circling around him on his charger. Henry couldn’t see the man’s face under his helmet. What expression would he be wearing? A malicious smirk at seeing Henry injured and unhorsed or the dead expression of the hardened butcher of men? Henry remembered his face couldn’t be seen either and de Montfort’s white cross hide his true identity. With one hand, his plucked at the cross pinned to him and desperately cried out, “Stay your hand! I’m Henry! Henry your king!”

An unconvinced laugh emanated from inside the knight’s helmet. It told Henry the man had heard him over the din of warfare. Another knight heard too, turned his mount, and grabbed at the other’s arm. The attacking knight turned to the other. “It’s a bluff. How can he be the king? The man wears de Montfort’s colours.”

“Is it worth the risk to slay him? If he is one of de Montfort’s we can run him through later or ransom him,” answered the other.

This suggestion mollified the first knight. “Very well.”

“Praise be,” muttered Henry, in relief, as he finally managed to tear the hated cross off his chest. 

The second knight, with the aid of the first, hauled Henry upon his charger. They pushed their way out of the battlefield, with the first knight in the lead. The two cried out their news - “The king! The king! We have rescued the king!” In reply, other soldiers shouted back their news: that de Montfort had been slain. To Henry it seemed the wheel had turned and he was back in God’s favour.


End file.
